Silent Cries
by MandalorianHybrid
Summary: Zilpha wasn't the only person James left behind -the only one who mourned his death- or the only one uncertain of how to comprehend his being back. Ten years is a long time and while his soul blackened on the Dark Continent, those who held a piece of it did, too. Not only is his sister a shadow of her former self, but Cora -the final piece of him- is different as well.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:  
** An attempt at a Taboo fiction. Let me know what you think, and enjoy!

 **Chapter One**

The horses trudged along the cobblestone with familiar ease as they pulled their cargo. The driver snapped the reigns and they obliged each silent command before coming to a stop in front of a familiar old, nearly dilapidated, home.

Brace saw the advance of the carriage and had been expecting it as he did every Wednesday. It was tradition, at this point –routine.

The aged man exited the house and jogged easily down the steps to the street where the carriage sat. The young woman at the reigns smiled to him with the familiar glint of a child he knew long ago. Despite the years, she still looked so much like she did back then.

"Mornin', Lady Cunningham." He greeted warmly.

"Brace," she laughed softly. "Enough, stop it. I hate it when you call me that."

He chuckled heartily and turned his attention to the wood stacked in the back of the carriage. Every Wednesday, Cora Cunningham would drive to Delaney Manor to have tea with Brace. Periodically, she would come bearing enough wood to set a bonfire taller than the home itself. Now, seemed to be such an occasion.

"I'll bring this around back and change."

"For what?" he asked as he looked to her once again.

She again smiled warmly, "To help you unload it, of course."

Brace scoffed and shook his head. "Don't you dare." He warned without any real tone. "Manual labor's no thing for a lady to be doing."

Cora rolled her eyes wide and shook her head in disbelief. Every time she offered anything in the ways of help, he'd always repeat the same thing.

"Stop it," she sighed when she met his gaze again. "I'm more than capable, so let me help."

He eyed her sternly like he always did –like a disapproving father- but she didn't bother heeding it. Instead, she snapped the reigns once more and told Brace in passing that she'd bring the carriage around to the alley behind the house, closer to the barn where they boarded their horse.

He continued to grumble to himself as he returned to the interior of the manor. One day, Brace hoped to make the girl listen, but he doubted it would ever happen.

Cora guided her horses pass the short wall that encompassed the property and brought it near the barn. She was sure to position it in such a way she could later leave, and then leapt down from her seat. Grabbing her bag, Cora headed in through the back door and upstairs with every intention of changing out of her dress and into something more conducive to the task at hand.

The moment she stepped through the threshold, however, Cora felt the atmosphere press on her shoulders. Her memories of Delany Manor had once been happy. Growing up alongside the two children, her time within those walls was wonderful, but now it felt so empty. It seemed none of her childhood remained, save Brace.

Horace and her father were childhood friends as well, so it only bore to reason that their children would be the same. Being forced to spend so much time together, there was little else that could happen. But Cora doubted the relationship she had with the two Delaney siblings was what either of their parents expected.

She couldn't put into words what she felt for Zilpha and James. They were part of her, in some ways. They were her links to another world she didn't know existed and she loved them both for it, and their secrets.

But when James died –his mother and Zilpha's shortly following suit- and Cora's own father perished, there felt to be nothing left. Naturally, Cora sought to cling to the only person she had left and for a short time, it worked. She and Zilpha remained together, side by side forever, until she met her future husband.

Cora couldn't place when the change came, but it felt sudden. Without warning, Zilpha's door was closed to her permanently and without explanation. Cora didn't know what Thorne told her, but whatever it was, Zilpha believed wholeheartedly that Cora was little more than a blight on her past, something not even worth remembering. It hurt. It physically hurt. Not even when Cora married did she forsake Zilpha, but clearly the same could not be said on Mrs. Geary's part.

Perhaps that was why she visited Brace as often as she did? Perhaps, now on her own, Cora needed that reminder of the past, of the things that helped shape her and comforted her when she needed it?

* * *

The moment he stepped through the front door, James knew something was different. Nothing was out of place, not the furniture or even a fleck of dust shifted, but something was off.

He stood in the foyer with his hat in hand and his narrowed gaze drifting around the space. He felt it –in his very being- that something was different. It was the same as a pebble in his boot -a gnawing, unfamiliar irritation that needed to be dealt with.

"Brace!" he called from his spot. His servant's footsteps soon met his ear and a moment later, the old Scotsman appeared at the end of the hall. "Someone's in my house." He said. Brace's face immediately fell. "Who?"

* * *

Cora didn't hear his silent footsteps, or realize she was being stalked by a dangerous predator. She was too busy removing her dress to change into something more labor-friendly.

She slid the garment from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor in a puddle of fabric at her feet. She stepped out of it, ignorant to the eyes on her back. James had woven through his home without a sound and emerged in the door behind her just as silently. He watched as she moved, as she let her dress fall and bent down to reach for her trousers.

As Cora tied her trousers on, she felt the air around her shift. A trickle of something crawled up her spine. She was suddenly aware there was someone else in the room, and she knew it wasn't Brace. The old man walked like a bull through the house. She could have heard him a mile off, so this was someone else.

Every nerve began to tingle and she knew she had to act. Still, feigning ignorance, Cora knelt down to retrieve the shirt she planned to wear, but reached for something else completely. Nestled within her bag, hidden in folds of fabric, was a pair of knives and she drew them quickly.

Without warning, Cora stood, spun and launched one of the two blades at the intruder. It sailed through the air and embedded itself deeply in the wooden wall just beside the man's head. The man she'd thrown the knife at seemed unphased by her or the weapons she donned.

Instead, calmer than anyone rightfully should be during a tense situation, he reached for the knife beside him and yanked it from the wall. He examined it as he took lazy steps forward. Cora was struck dumb.

"Impossible," the word left her lips on a breath.

James stepped forward still holding the knife as he gradually met her eye. He was blank and emotionless -calm despite the tension.

Her eyes danced along his features. It was him -there was no denying it. She recognized his sculpted features, his icy green eyes, his full lips and the cut of his jaw. The scar surrounding his left eye and the hair across his chin did nothing to disguise the young man she'd known nearly all her life. Cora felt tears immediately flood her eyes and the remaining knife slip from her grip. It fell to the floor with a dull thud, digging its blade into the old wooden slats and jutting out.

James remained silent as he took casual steps towards the woman in his house. He examined her just as she had him, but with a cold level of detachment. He said nothing of the fact that she was standing in a pair of trousers with nothing but her stays covering her chest. Most women would shy away while wearing nothing but a corset and slacks, but she was too shocked to notice, and he didn't truly seem to care.

"You're not real."

"No?" he asked with a rumbling voice that made her shudder. He was less than a foot from her.

She shook her head, "You bear his face, but-"

Cora reached forward and tenderly touched his cheek. Her eyes were locked to her touch. James said nothing and didn't move. He let her look at him as intensely as she did –he let her examine him.

Cora didn't know what she expected to happen, but touching a tangible human being wasn't it. Honestly, she assumed her fingers would drift straight through him, but they never did. He was real. He was there, but something felt wrong. Cora couldn't put her finger on it.

"You're not the same," she muttered softly as she met his gaze once again. "Something's different."

"You're right." He told her simply.

The relief she felt at seeing him again was enough for Cora to reach forward and hug him despite her uncertainty. She clung to him tightly, buried her face in the nape of his neck and held on as though he was just a figment of her imagination destined to disappear any moment.

James didn't immediately move and instead let her hug him. It'd been a long time since he felt the warmth of another living person pressed against his body -ignoring the hug from Brace when he arrived.

Eventually, James returned the sentiment and hugged her securely. He felt indifferent about the affectionate attention, but Cora reveled in it.

Gradually, a moment or two passed before the pair parted. Staring down at her, James felt the same rush of familiar emotions he had when he saw Zilpha only a few days prior, but his face remained blank.

"You weren't at my father's funeral." He said when they parted. It wasn't a question in the typical sense, but Cora could tell he wished to know why.

"No," she shook her head and took a step away, ensuring there was space between them. Despite having him back, Cora felt strange when confronted with James again. Some part of her refused to believe he was real despite the joy she felt. "I wasn't."

James waited for a moment to hear her explanation, for her to tell him why she avoided his father's funeral and wake, but she didn't. Cora had no intentions of elaborating.

"Hm," he muttered as he looked over her once again. "You should get dressed." And with that, James left the bedroom.

When he was gone, Cora felt the air rush back into her lungs. She didn't know if –or why- she'd been holding her breath, but clearly she was. The world spun and her mind raced. James was back, he was alive, and she'd just spoken to him. It seemed too fantastical, like her fantasies had finally come to fruition. If she hadn't touched him, she wouldn't believe it.

* * *

Outside and donning the clothes of a man, Cora busied herself with the task at hand. She stood on the back of the carriage, tossing logs onto a tarp laid over the grass. In a moment, when it was sufficiently filled, she'd drag it to the barn and stack it against one of the interior walls then repeat the process. Brace had tried to keep her from doing it, but when she stared at him warningly, he wisely disappeared into the house again. He knew she was angry about James' resurrection and his clear knowledge of it, so he decided to avoid her for the time being. She'd calm later and likely forgive him for not telling her, but he didn't wish to be near her while she was in possession of heavy things she could throw.

Inside, the dull thud of wood hitting the soft earth and the clack of logs smashing against one another was easily heard. James found himself standing in the window, watching the young woman tending to the work in the cold without a coat or care. His insides twisted, but he'd never let the emotions touch his face.

"Why wasn't Cora at my father's funeral?" he asked after a lengthy silence.

"Couldn't say," Brace replied honestly. "But it probably has something to do with your sister."

"Hm?" James glanced over his shoulder at the old man tending to something in the background.

"Not long after she married that husband of hers," Brace's voice was clipped and curt when speaking about Mr. Geary. After meeting him briefly, James understood the sentiment. "The misses cut contact with everyone, including Cora."

James nodded and let his eyes drift once more through the aged, warped panes of glass. He didn't like hearing that his sister turned her back on Cora, but given her domineering and pompous husband, he assumed it was likely easier than fighting the man. Still, he was disappointed.

He continued to stare at Cora, sure she sensed it but refused to look at him. Her hair was still ebony black, her skin fair and her frame slight. She still had crystal blue eyes and lips as full as his own. She still looked like she did when he left, but he could tell she'd changed, too. He didn't know how just yet, but he knew something was different.

Outside, Cora let the cold air hold her. She let it caress her and chill her to the bone because she needed it to. Now that the shock had dissipated, she was angry. James was alive, which meant he had been for the years since his death was announced, and he chose to remain gone. Sure the truth of what happened during those years wasn't known to her, but she doubted they were important enough to keep him from those he loved.

Suddenly, a shard of ice trickled down her spine. Cora stood upright as a thought came to her. Perhaps, she wasn't as loved by the Delaney children as she once thought? How could she be if both Zilpha and James cast her aside so easily as they aged? Was there any other explanation?

Fighting back the lump growing in her throat, Cora refused to let her tears return. Instead, she leapt from the back of the carriage, gripped the edges of the tarp and hauled it into the barn behind her.

She wanted to be happy James was home, but something –be it foolishness or unfounded paranoia- wouldn't let her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

While her weekly visits to the manor once brought her a slight joy, Cora now felt nothing but apprehension. Each time she stood on the walkway staring at the building, she saw darkness. No light pierced the glass windows. No life flickered inside. The home seemed dead and she could feel it the moment she passed through the gate.

Her commitment to Brace, however, hadn't faltered and she hadn't run into James a single time since. Cora didn't know what the Delaney heir was doing or what kept him from his home, only that he hadn't been there once in the three visits since she'd learned he was alive. As before, it made her question her sanity. It made her wonder if he was just another figment of her lonely imagination despite Brace's reassurance that James was indeed back.

When she arrived home after tea with the Scotsman, Cora found the post sitting on the entryway table. She grabbed the tied bundle in passing and made her way to the parlor to read what was likely nothing interesting.

Sure enough, most of the correspondence she received was useless in her mind. There was a letter from her mother-in-law (disturbingly overprotective woman who still –for some reason- contacted Cora despite her son's death three years prior) another from her solicitor requesting information on a property the Cunningham's owned and a third she didn't recognize.

The handwriting was unfamiliar and it bore no noticeable seal or return address. With her eyes narrowed curiously and her brows pulled together, Cora snapped the red wax ring and unfolded the parchment.

Her stomach immediately dropped and her heart clenched tightly within her chest.

 _Dearest Cora,_

 _I'm in the process of rebuilding my father's shipping company and now have a ship of my own with which to do it. Much has changed since I left London, but not what I've chosen to hold dear. Once my plans have come to fruition, I am going to leave this city –this country- behind and never look back, and I want you at my side. Together, the three of us will shed our pasts and begin anew in worlds that have yet to be discovered. Together, we can be as we once were. Join me._

 _Always,_

 _James_

Cora read the letter twice or more –she'd lost count- and still the words never seemed to make it into the depths of her thoughts. They weren't absorbed as they were meant to be and she didn't know why. And yet, still, her feet carried her to her writing desk and a pen soon emerged within her fingers. A letter to her ghost shortly followed.

 _Dear James,_

 _I have seen you once, spoken to you, touched you and now read your words, and still I cannot see you as more than a ghost. Are you real, or is this some machination of my fevered brain? Has my mind finally faded and this is all imagination while my body rests within the rotting halls of Bedlam? With the visions that have plagued me since your death, this seems the only explanation. Why else would you return eight years later wishing to whisk me away from this dreary, death-filled city?_

 _Yours,_

 _Cora_

As she blew tenderly on the ink for it to dry, images of her nightmares flashed before her eyes. It seemed hardly a time after she learned of his death that Cora wouldn't dream of him and not always were they of the lurid variety. Sometimes, she swore she saw him tortured, heard him screaming in pain and near death. It bore to reason to her that he really was gone because no man should have to live through what she envisioned. And if he did, he would be a man only in name because what lay beneath the surface would most assuredly be animal.

After folding the letter, Cora had it sent off to the specter Delaney.

~!~

James read Zilpha's letter condemning him and their feelings for one another before reaching for the envelope from Cora. He'd been corresponding with the pair in hopes of bringing them once again to his side, but while he'd remained ever-sure through the years, the two seemed to have wavered. Being beaten down by the moral preaching of the Christian faith had taken its toll, but he refused to let it be.

Zilpha was afraid of him, concerned for what he'd say –what he'd declare. She feared the truth of how they felt for one another and the strength of it. She needn't. James would protect her from the world, from those who spoke without knowing and judged just as easily as he always did. She need only trust him again.

Cora wasn't afraid, however. She was lost, and that much was made abundantly clear after their meeting and her subsequent letter. She was left questioning the world around her and the people in it. She didn't know where she belonged and he understood why. Within five years, everything she'd known was ripped from her, which left the young woman off kilter. Cora was left with James' death and spurned by Zilpha –the two people he knew kept her steady.

James was angry at his sister for abandoning Cora, leaving her to deal with her horrible father and the abuse that followed her through life, but now having seen Zilpha again, he wasn't entirely surprised. She was too consumed with what the world thought of her.

The guilt he felt at leaving the two alone to defend themselves swelled within him. He'd thought they'd bond together, remain side by side as they always had been. He was wrong.

With pen in hand and still hearing Zilpha's words ring in his mind, James responded to Cora's letter.

 _Dearest Cora,_

 _I am no ghost. I am alive, perhaps more so than I ever was before I left this rotting hole of a city. I see things for what they truly are now -see what the world wants hidden. But perhaps you wish I had remained gone. Do you believe as my sister, that what we have is born of sin and doomed our eternal souls? Or are you afraid that you know you aren't mad and that I truly have returned?_

 _Always,_

 _James_

~!~

 _Dearest James,_

 _Sin. Redemption. Heaven. Hell. They're only words, words created by man to control those unwilling or unable to think for themselves. I've never believed in them or those who preach the same, you know that. How could one ever believe in God or the goodness of man when one is forced to endure the hateful lash of those meant to protect them? If our souls are indeed doomed because we found safety, refuge and love within each other, then I welcome it._

 _My fear does not come from what may or may not happen when the reaper finally claims us. It comes from what I dreamt while you were gone, the screams of pain and fear, the visions of fire and blood. If any truth is held within them, then I don't know what you've returned as, or what lingers beneath the silent surface of James Delaney. Because of this, I'm not sure you truly have returned._

 _Yours,_

 _Cora_

James sat at the fire in his kitchen staring into the smoldering logs. The letter from the Americans rested in his lap along with the invitation from the Countess Musgrove. Cora's letter was still clasped tenderly within his fingertips.

As per usual anymore, his mind was splintered and divided, calculating a thousand things and how they may go wrong. He had plans to lay, relationships to stoke, and people to speak with –all the while he cared more about Zilpha and Cora. His sister's letters had long since ended, but Cora still wrote. Granted, this particular letter took nearly a week, whereas those before came within two days.

Still, one thing at a time.

"Miss Bow," he shifted in his seat to look at the woman behind him, "Do you dance?"

~!~

Cora sat silently in the drawing room, leaning back in a chaise and staring aimlessly through her windows into the garden while a stock card invitation hung limply from her fingertips. She was invited to the ball at Countess Musgrove's home. A blatant refusal would be considered rude, but the widow had no desire to attend the event. A crowd of people gawking at her and whispering behind her back was something she'd rather avoid at all costs.

But then again, perhaps she should do as she always did. For the invitations that arrived, Cora generally attended the event only long enough for her name to be announced. Then, she'd walk through the palatial home and leave through the back at which point she'd return home. People would hear her announcement, assume she was there the entire night and never be able to pinpoint when she'd left. It left her social standing intact.

The invitation eventually fell from her grasp. It fluttered to the floor and slipped beneath her seat. Cora's eyes remained fixed on the scene outside. In truth, the ball held little to none of her attention. Cora still hadn't come to terms with James' return. She was torn, right down the middle –pulled between being happy and angry.

~!~

Her carriage rocked from side to side as it wove down the gravel drive. She was one in a long line of people visiting Countess Musgrove's manor that night and truthfully hoped to be lost in the fray.

With the same practiced actions she'd learned through years of marriage to a noble family, Cora entered the ball. She lamented these types of events and those who attended them regularly. It seemed needed, for most of the upper-class. It was a way for them to escape their boring, horrible little lives and pretend to be someone else -someone better.

Her name bellowed in her ear was easily ignored.

The eyes of those near the entry hall followed the woman in black as she slipped through the crowd. As per usual, she offered polite smiles and kind nods to those who gave her the same in return, but her path was determined and predestined. Cora had no intentions of remaining a moment longer than need be. Once most saw her, she would again disappear and return to her home on Wimbley.

So much vied for her attention. There were brilliant costumes worn by flamboyant peoples in masks. Decoration hung from nearly every pillar and people uplifted on a thousand different intoxicants both wavered and danced through the halls. Their happy, smiling and pinkish faces angered her, and she wasn't entirely certain why.

It took near twenty minutes for Cora to make her way through the manor and to the outside. The path –she found- was a great deal more convoluted than once expected. The drunkards barred her way on more than a few occasions, but once she broke free of the pack and the icy chill of the night graced her cheeks, she felt better for it. She felt her own life returning to her after being drained on the walk through the manor.

Taking a deep breath, Cora walked slowly through the torch-lit paths of the gardens.

James stood on the terrace speaking to Lorna as he smoked his pipe. In truth, she spoke while he feigned listening. His mind was divided and her random spouting held little of his attention. What did –however- was a wisp of something in the distance. Barely lit by the torches she passed, was Cora. He tensed, his back straightened and his eyes found laser focus like a dog spotting a rabbit. Lorna noticed immediately.

"Excuse me," he said. He'd spoken only to tell her that he was ending their conversation, nothing more.

Lorna still clasped her glass of champagne as she watched James trudge towards a young woman in the distance with the same strong, determined steps he generally used. This young woman –while donning black as his sister had- was not the same female. This was someone else, someone new he bore the same possessive, predatory glint in his eye for. Lorna immediately tensed.

How many women did James Delaney feel he owned?

And while the term was distasteful, Lorna found it difficult to classify the expression that overtook James' face differently. It truly was as though he felt he owned these women, that they were his and no one else's, and regrettably, Lorna wished she could be among them.

Cora was nearly to the massive stone structure in the gardens when she heard the shift of gravel behind her. Despite being surrounded by people, by having them walk passed her more than once on her journey, this particular sound caused her to turn. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the intense and familiar face of James closing in on her. Like before, her breathing hitched.

"James," she breathed his name once again. "What are you doing here?"

"I was invited," he replied as he came to stop just behind her. Cora shifted to face him. "And you?"

"Of course," she nodded softly. "I'm invited to most of these types of events, because of my husband."

"Hm," he mumbled. The sound came out as little more than a short growl. "And yet, you arrive hours after it's begun."

"I hate them," Core replied honestly. "The people, the sounds, the smells… I hate it all."

"And yet, here you are."

"I come only long enough to be noticed, nothing more." She told him with a hint of defiance.

He smirked internally for only a moment before taking a step closer. Cora met his advance in reverse, forcing James to halt and continue standing three feet from her. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes and noted the way she wouldn't look into his face for long. James knew it would only be a matter of time before the rumors about him reached her, he just thought she'd ignore them. Clearly, he'd been wrong.

"Are you frightened of me?" he asked with his same calm, collected tone that indicated nothing in the ways of his feelings.

"That you're another specter, perhaps." She said as she gradually met his gaze.

He could see her crystalline eyes tinting pink in the dim torch light and noted how they glistened. She was on the verge of tears. Her delicate brows slowly tugged together as she continued to stare at him.

"You own my soul, James." She eventually admitted. "You always have. You marked half of it as yours, and Zilpha the other, and when I heard you were dead, that half shattered." The tears had gathered and clung desperately to her lashes, but when she blinked, they were freed, left to glide down her cheeks in lonely, silver trails. "I am left broken, James. Surely you can sense that."

"I do," he nodded coolly. When he stepped forward again, she didn't retreat and instead allowed him to stand over her, nearly pressing his chest to hers. "I felt it break," he told her in a quiet voice, "And I heard your screams and cries because of it."

Her brow furrowed further as she stared at him in near disbelief. "How?"

"The wind," he said easily. "It carried your pain to me. Even in the depths of Africa, I heard you."

Cora's anger with him returned and her expression reflected it. "Then why be silent?" she demanded as strongly as she thought she could. "Why not tell me, send word, that you're alive."

"I did tell you." He loomed over her and dipped forward, letting his forehead nearly brush against hers. Cora's eyes drifted shut and her lips parted as he filled her like he once did. She felt everything that was James Delaney pour into her and was warmed instantly as a result. "When the sun would set, and the world disappeared, I came to you." His forehead finally touched hers and the heat of it caused Cora to gasp. His hands gently took her hips. "And you felt me, didn't you?"

Cora's mind flashed with instances she dreamt of James through the years. They were vivid, sultry and felt as real as the moment she currently found herself in.

"Yes," she breathed.

"I was always with you." His breath glided along her lips. "We are one –the three of us- and we always will be."

Cora felt herself nod. She wanted nothing more than to feel James' lips pressed to hers again. He was so close, she couldn't take it, but they were denied the chance.

A clearing throat brought both of them from the moment and diverted their attention to a butler and a woman just behind him.

"The Countess Musgrove," he said with a bow, presenting the woman bearing a smile. James and Cora put distance between them, and she felt worse for it.

"Mr. Delaney," the Countess smiled warmly, "Come, dance with me."

"I do not dance, Madame." He told her simply.

"My friend, Colonnade, tells me you do."

James bristled at her words, but took steps towards her regardless. Clearly, this was someone he needed to speak to and Cora was more than capable of sensing it.

"Lady Cunningham," Musgrove turned her attention to the woman in black, "Would you like to join us?"

When he reached her side, James turned to face Cora. She met his eye only briefly before offering her answer.

"No thank you, Countess." She replied. "I was only just leaving."

"So soon?" Musgrove mocked a pout that was anything but genuine.

"Yes, my lady." Cora gave her a gentle curtsy. "And I would like to thank you, for the invitation."

"Of course," she beamed. "Please, always feel free to call."

Cora gave her another soft nod while Musgrove wrapped her arm around James'. The two met eyes and stared at one another until Cora backed away and turned, breaking contact. As she left and James was guided back into the manor, Cora felt better. She felt as though now she was able to be happy he'd returned.

James' mind continued to flutter and spin as a thousand thoughts came to him over and over again. It was no coincidence the two women were invited alongside him and if the Americans knew about Zilpha, it bore to reason they knew about Cora, too. He wasn't entirely surprised. Rumors abounded for years. It wouldn't be difficult for them to find someone who swore they knew the truth.

He was glad, however, that Cora seemed more receptive to his return than his sister. Cora never cared about what others thought of her or what they gossiped about. It annoyed her that they deemed whatever the Delaney/Moore children did was worth constant attention, but tongues would wag regardless of whatever the trio said to deny it. Then again, Cora didn't have the added taboo of being related closely by blood to either sibling. She only had to deal with the rumors of bedding a woman –no more accepted, but much less lamented. And Cora no longer had a husband, while Zilpha's clung to her shadow and continued to douse her in guilt.

Still, James knew Zilpha would return to him and along with Cora, the three of them would leave England and everything it represented behind. They would be together again, as they should be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

When Cora arrived at Delaney Manor the Wednesday following Musgrove's ball, she was met with the tea already setup. Unless she sent word that she would be either late or unable to attend, Brace always had it waiting for her.

"My Lady," he said as he pulled her seat out for her.

Cora gave him a soft nod of thanks and slipped into the chair. She hated when he called her by proper title given he'd known her long before she had one, but no matter how often she told him to stop, he never seemed willing.

They sat for a short while, talked and reminisced as they tended to when Cora finally asked something she'd been wondering since arriving.

"Are you alright, Brace?" she asked, swearing she saw more wrinkles added to the aged man's face in the last week alone.

"It's nothing," he replied as he poured them both some more tea.

"Brace," she said warningly. Her tone was such that he knew she could sense his lie, and she did. It wasn't as though he tried to hide it, however.

With a heavy sigh, he fell back in the seat next to the young woman at the dining room table. His eyes drifted to his tea as he thought about what to say.

"He's stirrin' up trouble," he finally said without looking up, "And I'm afraid he ain't gonna be able to get out of it."

Cora's brows slowly pulled together. She didn't have to ask who he was referencing.

"What's happening?"

When he met her eye, she could see sadness and fear. It broke her heart. The old man had been involved with the Delaney family for as long as Cora could remember. He was as much a part of it as she was, and something had him worried. Not only worried, in fact. Brace actually looked terrified.

Before he could open his mouth to speak, his name was called from elsewhere in the house.

"Brace!" a woman shouted a moment before appearing in the doorway from the stairs. "I need-"

Lorna immediately paused when she saw the brunette sitting at the dining table with the servant. She was beautiful, a stranger and still somehow familiar to the redhead. It wasn't until she took slow, measured steps into the room that it finally clicked within Lorna's mind where she'd seen the young woman before.

A smile began to spread across her thin lips when presented with the woman who'd taken James from her that night at Countess Musgrove's ball.

"Hello," she greeted. Her eyes drifted to the now-annoyed Scotsman. "I didn't know we had company."

" _We_ don't." he said shortly. Brace still hadn't warmed to the intruder. "The lady came to see me."

"Lady?" Lorna asked with intrigue as she turned her attention back to the stranger. She continued her approach and soon offered her hand when she was close. "Forgive me, I'm Lorna Delaney."

Lorna noticed the young woman's shock and was delighted by it, but was surprised by Cora's following statement.

"I was unaware Horus married again." She said as she rose from her seat. "I'm Cora Cunningham." She shook Lorna's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"How did you know I was Horus' wife?" Even though it was true, she was surprised that was Cora's first thought, and not that she was married to someone closer in age –like James, for example.

"Because of your name," Cora answered as though it should have been so simple. She gave her attention to Brace once again. "I think it's time I head home." He nodded and rose. "Mrs. Delaney,"

Cora gave the wife a nod of acknowledgement before Brace led Cora through the house. Lorna slowly followed suit, more than willing to spy on any conversation the two had in the meantime. She wanted to know who this woman was.

"Talk some sense into him." Brace said under his breath as he led Cora to the door.

"What would I say?" she asked honestly. Cora had no idea what James was doing, nor did she think she had the right to say anything to him about it.

"Still," he sighed.

Cora said she'd do her best, though the lie tasted foul the moment she uttered it. Again, she didn't know what he expected of her, but she felt compelled to say something.

With a final farewell, Cora left the home and headed back to her own.

* * *

Days later, Cora had a visitor. The name given was one she'd heard only a short time before and she was surprised by it.

Upon entering the parlor, Cora saw Lorna Delaney standing near the windows staring at the beautiful garden.

"Mrs. Delaney," Cora said when she passed the threshold. Lorna turned. "Hello, again."

"Lady Cunningham," Lorna offered a soft curtsy to show her respect. When she sought the young woman out, Lorna was admittedly a bit surprised that Brace had been right and Cora was someone of standing. The Cunningham's were well known. Evidently, Cora had married well.

"Please," Cora motioned to take a seat not far from them and nearer the fireplace. Lorna thanked her and joined the lady of the house in the high-backed chairs. "Would you care for some tea?"

"No, thank you." Lorna smiled. She was a little put-off and yet relieved by the kindness she was being shown, especially after the short attitudes of both Zilpha, Mr. Geary and Mr. Thoyt the solicitor. All of them claimed to care for James and yet showed nothing but contempt when Lorna spoke to them. "I was hoping I could speak with you." Cora nodded. "I believe James is missing."

Cora's face dropped just a hint, but it was clear she was doing her best to keep her features benign.

"You believe he's missing?" she repeated. Lorna nodded. "You're not certain?"

Lorna felt a stab. It was amazing that Cora could sound accusatory without the tone ever touching her words. She didn't know if it was because of her own guilt and worry about James, or not, but Lorna felt a bit attacked regardless. Still, she was smart enough to hold her tongue. Though, her words did emerge more terse than before.

"He's missing." She said with a bit more authority. "No one seems to have spoken to him in days."

Cora's eyes narrowed slightly. "How long, exactly?"

"Two days,"

The Lady nodded softly and drifted into her own thoughts for a moment. Lorna sat back and watched, curious as to how Cora would help –if at all. Again, despite people claiming to care for James, the sheer number of them that refused help seemed staggering.

Lorna found Cora beautiful and could easily see why James would think the same. Cora held an angelic quality that wasn't uncommon with the noble families. She wasn't classically attractive like Zilpha, instead appearing far too innocent to be associated with someone like James Delaney, and perhaps that was what brought Lorna's next question forward before she could pull it back.

"How do you know James," she asked, jolting Cora out of her thoughts and once again drawing her eye, "Exactly?"

Cora took a deep breath and sighed softly as she replied, "We grew up together." She said, much to the redhead's surprise. "Our fathers were friends."

The shock that once dominated Lorna's expression slowly began to fade with Cora's declaration. Horus didn't have friends. No one liked the brash old man –not even his associates. The only person Lorna knew Horus even spoke to or about outside of Brace was a man called Richard Moore. Lorna had met him once and once was more than enough. He was a horrible man –a drunkard- who belched sexist insults as easily as breathing. He was abusive and disgusting in every regard.

Cora noticed Lorna's expression sour and somehow knew what it meant without the redhead speaking.

"I see you've met my father." She replied with a curt edge staining her words. Lorna shifted.

"Richard Moore?" Lorna muttered under her breath. Cora nodded and Lorna fought the scowl. "Yes, I've met him."

Cora said nothing more on the matter and instead shifted the conversation to the reason for Lorna's initial visit.

"If you're looking for James, Mrs. Delaney, then what brings you to my door?"

Lorna cleared her throat and spoke, more than willing to move on as well. "I assumed the two of you were close."

"We were, very… James, Zilpha and myself, but…" Cora felt a hitch in her throat form near the end of her statement, thick with memory and ache, and forced it down before continuing in a much stronger voice. "But I'm afraid I've only spoken to him twice since he's returned. I'm afraid I have no idea where he might be."

The lie fell easily from her lips, but Lorna never gave an indication as to whether or not she sensed it. In truth, Cora may not have known exactly where James had wandered to, but she knew where to look.

The two spoke for only a moment longer before Lorna relinquished her questioning. She had hoped for help from Cora, but her visit held another purpose. The redhead wanted to know more about the woman who drew James away at nothing more than being. And while the portrait of Lady Cunningham wasn't complete, Lorna felt a few more brush strokes had been laid upon the canvas.

* * *

Atticus sat at the table scribbling into a journal that looked as though it had seen better days. With his glasses hanging low on his nose and the world bustling around him, he hadn't noticed the added body to his shack until the shadow blocked his light. He sighed with an agitated tone and glanced up over the rim of his spectacles. His eyes narrowed shortly after.

The figure that stood before him was one he didn't recognize. It was a man, slight in build and wrapped in an expensive, but aged, leather duster. A hood pulled up and a cloth wrapped around his face left only the eyes to see, but they were unfamiliar to Atticus. He glanced briefly to his men who soon surrounded the silent creature while he leaned back and removed his glasses.

"What?" he asked shortly.

The figure said nothing, but with gloved hands removed both obstructions. The young woman revealed was unexpected and caused more than a few to shift, but her eyes remained solely on Atticus.

"I know you, gi'l?" he asked with a curious stare.

"Long ago, I suppose." Cora said as she bravely took a seat in front of the bald man. In truth, she held no fear of any of them, whether it be out of over-confidence or naivety.

Atticus continued to eye her skeptically, but Cora knew his memory was sharper than most men half his age, and it took the old seaman little time to put name to face. Slowly, a smile touched his thin lips, curling them back to reveal his rotted teeth and the one that looked to be made of steel.

"If I ain't the son'ov'a whore." He chuckled. "Li'l Cora Moore."

"Hello, Atticus." She greeted politely but without smile.

"I remembah you used tuh run 'round on the deck of ol' Horus' ship, raisin' all kind o' hell wif lil' James and Zilpha 'til your daddy had to take a piece of the riggin' line to ya." He mused over the memory briefly, finding her childish attitude and subsequent punishment funnier than she did. And at seeing her lack of willingness to reminisce, he decided to press on. "What can I do ya for then, hm?"

"Where's James?"

Cora was blunt and to the point. She'd thought initially to be coy about her reason for the visit, to be polite and commence with small talk before demanding to know if Atticus had even seen James since his return, but that plan changed the moment she stepped through the doorway. Cora felt James. It was a difficult thing to explain to an outsider, but she felt him in that room -felt the weight of him having been there- and that removed any doubt she had about his visit. While she initially may have been uncertain as to whether or not James would return to one of his father's men, it faded quickly.

Atticus' smile faded and his gaze sharpened. She could tell almost immediately that he was attempting a lie, but it would serve him no good in the end.

"Ain't seen 'im." He replied as he leaned back in his seat.

Cora took a deep breath and sighed. She didn't resent him for lying outright, but it was annoying. If Brace was to be believed and James was angering many of the wrong sort, it made sense Atticus would try to protect him, even from someone who knew the Delaney man. But again, she found it taxing.

"He was here, Atticus." She told him simply and with her agitation clear. Her eyes locked firmly to his and refused to look away. "I can feel it -feel him." Atticus flinched just a bit whether he meant to or not. "Where is he?"

He said nothing for a moment or two and her irritation grew as a result, but it became clear he had no intentions of replying. Annoyed, but again not surprised, Cora rose. Atticus was loyal. Fine.

"Tell him I need to speak with him." She said.

He gave her a short nod and with nothing else, she turned to leave.

Cora pulled on her disguise as she left the shack and once again slipped into anonymity. While it might have been unlikely anyone near the docks would recognize her, Cora would just as soon make sure.

* * *

Sleep was a strange thing. Sometimes, it would wrap itself around you and with its warm embrace, cradle you through till morning. Other times, it would stay just out of arms reach, darting off even further each time you scrambled to grab at it.

This night was the latter.

Whether she wanted to be or not, Cora worried for James and wondered if he'd even received her message. Logically, she knew he'd be safe. James' mind was unlike any other and she doubted he'd be stupid enough to be in as much danger as everyone thought he was, but on the other hand, she couldn't help it. Cora would always worry about James, and perhaps even more so knowing he was alive again.

Lost in her thoughts and staring into the fire in the parlor, Cora was nearly ready to retire to her bedroom again when she heard it. The faintest sound of cracking glass echoed in her ears. Her back tensed, her nerves immediately sparked to life, and her ears sharpened. She heard the shards land on the carpet just beneath the door and a moment later the lock clicked. In the deathly silence of the manor, the slightest sound was amplified ten-fold.

Someone was breaking into her home…

Cora rose swiftly to her feet and reached for one of the two swords displayed over the fireplace. She slid it easily from its mount and sailed across the room on her toes. She made not a sound as she ducked into the shadows.

The sound of the door giving way and someone stepping through would have been silent had she not been so close. In her room a floor above, Cora never would have known someone was infiltrating her home, but she wasn't. No matter how silent they were, they clearly hadn't expected someone to be awake.

His feet were nearly silent, but she heard them clearly. This was someone else –someone unwelcomed- so it might as well be an elephant on stampede.

Hidden just behind the archway that led to the parlor, Cora listened as the man crept closer. He'd broken in through her garden door and was now making his way along the hall towards the stairs. He'd have to pass right by her to reach them and when he did, she'd strike.

Closer and closer he came. Her grip tightened on the hilt of the sword. Any second and he'd be close enough.

Cora took a deep, steadying breath and exhaled as silently as she could while he passed her. The instant she heard his heel hit a particularly loud floorboard, she stepped out of hiding.

Cora swung as she lunged for the intruder, ready to take his head from his shoulders in an instant. Her strike was perfect and the blade sure, but the intruder was quicker than she anticipated. He leaned back just in time and before Cora could lunge again, she paused.

"James," she sighed angrily. The young man in question stared at her blankly, silently, while she calmed her heart once again. "Why the hell are you breaking into my home?" she demanded as she let her arms again fall to her side.

His eyes darted to the weapon glinting in the dim light. "Do you know how to use that?" he asked, avoiding her question entirely.

She glowered slightly. "Twelve years is a long time, James." She said as she turned her back to him and entered the parlor once again. She heard his casual steps follow. "You'd be surprised by the things I know now."

"Hm,"

James watched as Cora set the blade once again in its spot above the fire before she gave him her attention again.

"Why are you here?"

"Atticus said you went searching for me."

She nodded softly, "Your step-mother paid me a visit." Cora waited for some external reaction, but one never came. James had grown disturbingly capable of keeping his emotions under control during his time away. "She says you've been missing for two days."

"Hm," was his only response.

James' eyes danced around the opulent room he found himself in as he tugged the leather gloves from his hands. Cora had clearly done well for herself in his absence, but it wasn't entirely surprising. Despite her father, Cora was attractive and smart. It bore to reason that she'd have married a wealthy man, but there were rumors about the late Lord Cunningham, as well –rumors that made their union even more logical.

Evidently, the Lord Cunningham shared a sexual proclivity with his wife –they both liked men. Illegal and punishable by either life in prison or death, buggery was something any family wanted to keep hidden, and the Cunningham's were no different. To save her family's reputation, the matriarch went in search of someone to marry her son, someone who would look pretty on his arm, who came from a family reputable enough to fit, but not so prominent as to introduce its own difficulties, and had their own secrets she could use to manipulate them. Cora, the beautiful daughter of a once respected soldier, suspected of carrying on a sorted relationship with the Delaney children fit that bill.

At least, that's what James found out when he learned of her marriage, and those were his suspicions.

"You owe me a new window, James." Cora finally said as she stepped to a small table in the corner of the room.

He watched as she poured them both a drink and carried the glasses to him. She offered James a brandy and kept the second for herself. He was a little surprised to see her drink it without difficulty –not a hint of grimace. The truth was, Cora developed a taste for harsh alcohol long ago. It helped her through many hard nights and dark thoughts.

James threw back the beverage in one long gulp and set the empty crystal on the table nearest him.

"You need to stay away, Cora." He finally said.

She looked to him and he met her eye. In the shadows, she could see him more clearly than in the daylight. Every flicker of orange from the fire across his skin and every shadow it cast revealed more of the man than anything else. Cora knew this dark and damaged figure, the one whose scars practically glowed in the shadow of the fire, was who James had become. It broke her heart because she didn't know this man.

"Until my business is finished, I need you to stay as far from it as possible."

"What are you doing, James?"

"What I need to."

Cora didn't like his answer. It was vague like most everything he'd chosen to do and say since arriving home. Cora didn't doubt he knew what he was doing, but it was clear he'd chosen to keep everything close to the vest. She didn't like it.

"Hm," she mumbled.

Cora turned her back to James and stared into the fire while she sipped on her drink. The hypnotic way the fire lapped at the coals and wood helped calm her, but only a bit. The truth was, Cora hadn't been truly relaxed in some time.

"Sometimes," her voice was soft. Cora didn't know why she spoke, only that the words came regardless. "Sometimes, in my dreams, you'd break into my home in the middle of the night, just like this."

James' boots were nearly silent as he approached from behind, but she didn't bother turning. Cora didn't move at all, even after she felt him standing mere inches from her. She could hear his breath, feel the heat of him, and she knew that it would take nothing for her to rest against his chest, but she didn't move.

"And then?" his deep, rumbling voice rolled over her like distant thunder rolled over the hillside.

"You'd creep through the shadows, through the darkness… cloaked in it." She continued. Cora's voice remained low and soft, filled with a subdued longing as the memories of her dreams filled her.

"And,"

"And I'd feel the weight of you, pressing against my chest." Her heart began to race. She swore she felt his gaze on her, boring into her from behind. "I'd see you staring down at me, a mask over your nose and mouth. I'd see only your eyes staring back at me, cold and distant."

He closed the space between them, pressing his chest to her back. The air was stolen from her that instant and she actually began to tremble when he held her arms tenderly in his hands.

"And," he repeated.

The tone to his nearly-silent voice let her know he already knew exactly what happened in her dream.

Cora turned her head just a bit to the side so he could see her in profile and she could catch even the slightest glimpse of the only man that's ever made her feel anything.

"And you would take me," Cora turned to face him completely, staring up into a face that was both familiar and entirely foreign, "Just as you used to."

"Hm," he muttered.

His gaze drifted over her and as it did, Cora wanted so desperately for him to act. She wanted to finish what they began at the Countess's party. She wanted him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

James said nothing as he took the glass from her hand and set it on the mantle behind her, leaning against Cora's body to do so. She remained fixed, unwilling to move out of his way as he did.

"So," his gruff voice was as weathered as the rest of him. "How do you know you're not dreaming now?"

"Because we'd be in my bed if it were."

James altered his stance, shifting his body to the side so she could move. "Show me." It was a simple command and one she felt compelled to honor.

Cora kept her eyes on his as she glided past him until she had no choice but to keep them trained forward. Her feet fell with practiced steps, silent and soft, as she walked through the floor plan of her manor and to the stairs. She felt James behind her the entire trip, felt his eyes on her and the wildness of him so close.

His feet were light. The only sound that accompanied her upstairs was that of his coat, shuffling and swishing delicately with his broad, commanding steps.

When she reached the second floor, Cora dared a glance behind her. James's face was half-hidden beneath the shadow cast by his hat's brim. His eyes were gone, consumed in the darkness, and she could see nothing in the faint light of her home save his thick, full lips and the tight cut of his stubble-ridden jaw.

She reached the door at the end of the second-floor landing and pushed it open easily. Cora was swathed in her plush robe, a garment that was perhaps an inch thick, and covered nearly every bit of her body. Long sleeves and a flowing shape helped protect her from the London cold in the middle of the night, but she'd have no need of it now.

Her fingers began to tug at the delicate chords keeping the garment closed the moment she entered the room. Before reaching the center of the space, Cora heard the door click shut behind her and turned to look over her shoulder. James stood just within the threshold, illuminated by the fire burning in her fireplace and the sparse lamps that remained lit.

With his gaze fixed firmly to hers, he tossed his hat onto the nearby chaise. He never blinked, never looked away as he removed his jacket, too. Their eyes remained locked while Cora went through the task of untying her robe and he stripped himself of cumbersome attachments.

By the time he unfastened his trousers, Cora let her robe fall from her shoulders. It fell to the floor in a pool of fabric that threatened to drown her feet, leaving her standing in nothing more than a thinly-strapped chemise that barely covered her backside.

The fabric was almost translucent. James could see the outline of her body through it, the shadow it cast because of the lamp lit behind her. He saw the slope of her waist, the curve of her breast, and the width of her hips. It stirred that primal thing inside him, the thing that lay dormant now for little other than bloodshed and revenge. Now, it was awake and willing.

He yanked his shirt almost violently from his trousers, peeled it off his body and tossed it aside. Long, heavy steps carried him the short distance to her. His body hit hers harder than he meant to, but he was greedy as he hoisted her into the air, sending the two of them toppling onto her mattress.

James kissed Cora deeply, passionately, and she returned it with fervor. She clawed at his back, digging her shortened fingernails into his skin. James pawed at her, as well. He guided her thighs around his waist, delighted in the softness of them, the heat of her pressed to his body. There were only two women he'd ever cared for, ever desired or dreamt of, and one of them lay beneath him at that moment.

His beard scratched her neck when he dove for it, when he raked the blunt edge of his teeth across her skin, but Cora didn't mind. She didn't suppose she could if she tried. She'd missed him so much.

Without warning of any kind, James suddenly shoved himself inside her. Cora cried out, her fingernails biting almost angrily into his back at the unexpectedness of it. She pressed her forehead to his broad shoulder, struggling for a single breath he'd stolen from her.

James was, practically, the only man she'd ever been with. Though she was married for a time, and bed her husband, it was never pleasant for either of them. They had sex every six months for the purpose of producing a child, nothing more, and having a child was a bit difficult when the man could never finish. She didn't blame him, of course. He was simply attracted to those with a masculine design, not feminine like her. So, aside from what amounted to seven times, James was the only man she'd been with, and while he'd always been passionate, this was different.

James seemed filled with a primal desire, something animalistic and new. It should have frightened her, the intensity of it, but that was far from the truth. In reality, Cora thought that perhaps this version of James might survive what she planned to do to him.

He slammed into her almost ruthlessly, leaving her dazed and her body on fire. His deep grunts and heavy breath echoed in her ear as she clung to him, ensuring he remained close to her.

But, she needed more. Like a man dying of thirst given his first drop of water, she needed more to the point she may drown.

Still holding him firmly, Cora threw her body into his. James, apparently caught off guard by it, felt himself roll regardless of his wishes until his back was pressed into the mattress, and Cora straddled his lap. He was surprised by the shift and all action ceased for a brief moment as a result.

Cora stared down at the man between her legs, through tendrils of black hair that had fallen into her eyes. She gripped the edge of her chemise and peeled it off her body, throwing it elsewhere. When she looked down at him again, she wasn't surprised to find his gaze further south than her face.

She began to move again, rocking her hips against him and eliciting new waves of pleasure. James's mouth fell open, his brows furrowed, and his grip on her body tightened. In seconds, it seemed, they found a rhythm and began to move in tandem. Together, they slammed her down against him and were greatly rewarded for it.

Cora didn't know how long she lasted in their new position, only that the world around her disappeared. Her body suddenly ignited, her nerves exploded, and every muscle simultaneously tensed and went into spasm. She cried out loudly, without a care as to who in her staff might hear the dalliance. James didn't stop moving, not even after she collapsed onto his chest, spent and worn, yet somehow still hungry.

He continued his assault until, a moment later, he met his end as well. James let out a roar, no more quiet than her own declaration before it, and fell limply into the bed beneath him. He took in one long, low, shaking breath after another as he steady his erratically beating heart. Cora could feel it through his chest, the way it beat against his ribs as though trying to break through.

James held her close, their bodies hot and near sweating, but neither moved.

"Stay the night," she whispered in a soft, hoarse voice. Cora sat up only enough to look at the man beneath her. He met her gaze. "Leave in the morning if you must, but stay until the sun rises."

James reached forward and tenderly touched her jaw with the tip of his index finger. Tomorrow night, he was set to deliver the gun powder to the American. He'd spend the day in the country tending to it as best he could, but for the night, he had no plans. He could spare the few hours she requested, and once more, he wanted to.

Saying nothing, he leaned forward and kissed her. As before, Cora returned the sentiment full heartedly.

~!~

The light coming in through the window was pink, indicating the sun would be rising shortly. Neither James nor Cora slept that night, instead more than willing to continue their amorous affair until the hellfire that raged within them was quelled.

Cora laid against his chest, her body firmly to his without an inch between them. He was naked to her now, all his marks there for her eyes to devour from the ink to the scars. Cora traced her fingers along the broad strips of black across his chest, followed their paths and where they diverged. Whenever a mark was interceded by a scar, she'd follow that as well.

"Do you find them interesting?" James finally asked. She'd been examining him for some time already, and had yet to stop.

"Yes," she replied. Cora tenderly touched a scar on his chest, an angry mark that split in two just above his heart. "And sad."

"Are they?" he asked, keeping any tone of any kind from his voice as he spoke.

"Dark men with dark eyes and even darker hearts carve into pale flesh, naked and bare." She whispered softly. Images of her nightmares flashed in her mind. "Screams, manic and afraid, echo out in search of an ear that will help, but the world is deaf to the noise." He stiffened beneath her. "Fire, blazing and burning in the black night, turns the metal brilliant red before it is pressed to the shaking man." Her voice dipped in volume even more, to the point James nearly had to strain to hear it. "But I heard the screams. I always heard the screams."

The hand James had been running up and down the length of her back stopped. Everything stopped from her words, to his affection. James nearly stopped breathing as well, the weight of what she said pressing down on him with all its force.

His mind raced, filled with his own memories of how his body came to be in its current condition. He needed to know.

"Where did you see this?" he asked with an edge to his words he'd meant to remove.

Cora sat up, the sheet sliding from her back along with his hand until they both rested on the bed once more. She stared down at him with eyes tinting pink, tears not far behind.

"In my nightmares." She told him. "Never a face, but flashes of the torture. I would wake in a sweat, cold, shaking, with my skin on fire and his screams would follow me into the real world." Her voice shook when she added, "Your screams."

James stared up at her without emotion, without recognition to her words despite them being true. He was tortured, he was burned and scarred, the proof was evident, but he didn't show it in his face.

"They were, weren't they?" she asked. Her eyes turned glassy and he knew she was near releasing the gathering tears, but she refused to look as though she were about to cry. She kept herself stoic and strong, something he noticed, not willing to allow her face to twist with pain.

"Yes," he said simply. There was no point in lying or trying to save her from the truth. James pushed himself up, closing the majority of the distance between him and Cora. He pressed his forehead to hers, and watched as her eyes drifted shut on a breath. "And you heard them, just as I heard yours, just as I heard Zilpha's."

"We thought you'd died." She whispered softly.

"But part of you knew, didn't you?" he said in a voice equally soft. "Part of you knew it wasn't true."

She nodded.

Cora died the day she heard the news of James. It broke her, so much so that she locked herself away in her room for weeks without leaving. She thought a part of her soul was gone. But, some little bit of her refused to believe it. As the weeks passed without word, becoming months and then years, she swore her assertion that he was still alive was little more than wishful thinking, and the sultry dreams, and vivid nightmares were her mind's way of torturing her.

She was glad to be proven both right, and wrong.

"I have to go." James finally said. "I have business today."

Cora nodded again, drawing back to look at the man in her bed. She stood, walked to her robe and slipped it on while James left her bed as well. He dressed himself quickly, and she watched while he did, taking in every tattoo and scar his new life had given him. When he was nearly righted again, only missing his jacket and hat, she spoke.

"You're different now." She said, drawing his eye.

"Am I?" he asked.

He knew he was, but he wanted to test her for some childish reason. Perhaps he simply wanted even further proof as to how in tune she still was with him despite their years apart. He and Zilpha shared blood. They'd always be deeply connected, which left him forever curious about Cora.

"Of course." She said as she stepped closer, drawing her robe tightly around her body as she did. Her eyes drifted to his chest, to his heart. "There's something missing now, something you clearly lost, but you're not empty." She met his blank stare. "You've filled that hole with something else, haven't you?"

"Perhaps." He replied. "The thing that never changed, however, is I still love you, both of you. You know that, don't you?"

Cora nodded. She believed him, even if his outward appearance or the tone of his voice didn't allude to the fact, he spoke with certainty.

With his hat and coat in hand, James approached her again. His eyes danced over her face before he leaned in. He didn't kiss her, and instead let his forehead rest against hers once more. Cora heard him let out a soft, almost relieved breath as they stood there for just a moment.

Eventually, James retreated, glancing at her one last time before disappearing through the bedroom door. And like that, the phantom was gone again.


End file.
